


Mark Twain Was Right

by KaliopeShipsIt



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Derek Misses Stiles, Derek Owns a Snuggie, Friends to Lovers, German Idiosyncracies, Homesick Stiles, It's Pink, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Stiles misses Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-23
Updated: 2015-01-23
Packaged: 2018-03-08 18:53:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3219719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaliopeShipsIt/pseuds/KaliopeShipsIt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"When a German gets his hands on an adjective, he declines it, and keeps on declining it until the common sense is all declined out of it" (Mark Twain). </p><p>Stiles was really looking forward to his semester abroad in Germany but now, faced with guttural, 63-letter long compound words, a bureaucratic system that's supposed to be efficient but really isn't, and no sun whatsoever, he is starting to get really homesick.</p><p>Or maybe he's just missing a certain Sour Wolf?</p><p>Nah, that can't be it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mark Twain Was Right

**Author's Note:**

> Please do not put my stuff on Goodreads. I was not aware that part of my stories were on there and I am not comfortable with having my fan fics circulated out of my control. 
> 
>  
> 
> I wrote this a couple of months ago at the height of my first ever bout of homesickness (making myself a walking, talking cliche for fanfiction studies scholars who believe some people use fan fiction as a therapeutic writing tool) but never got around to posting it. 
> 
> If you've read my stuff before you may know that English is not my native language, as I grew up speaking in beautifully guttural-sounding, long compound-words attached to arbitrarily assigned gendered articles. 
> 
> I poke fun at my own country and language very lovingly, so please take this story as the humorous piece it was intended to be and not some Germany-bashing, as it couldn't be farther from the truth :).
> 
> But to avoid any and all confusion:
> 
> WARNING: I have lived abroad for quite some time and have encountered my fair share of stereotypical opinions about Germany (I have obviously left out the really bad ones, because this is supposed to be a fun story, not a downer). I am making use of these stereotypes here so this story is tongue-in-cheek.
> 
> If you feel that reading a story which pokes fun at Germany might ruffle your feathers or sensibilities then please do not read it. This has satirical elements and the way I word some things might be offensive but please understand that this is written from the perspective of someone who is homesick and struggling with a difficult language.

**February**

Stiles is brimming with excitement when he boards the plane to Germany at the beginning of February.

He has spent months eagerly awaiting his semester abroad in Europe and now that he’s finally on his way he can hardly wait.

Granted, he could have probably spent more time brushing up on his German grammar than celebrating his departure with the pack ten times over, but seriously, he knows enough words by now to string together beautiful, 63-letter long compound words and make the Lederhosen-wearing natives understand what he wants.

Also, his classes will be mostly taught in English and he knows how to say, “Another beer, please” and “Where is the Autobahn?” so he’ll be just fine.

If need be, he’ll just channel Derek’s best growly voice and he’ll probably fit right in with the ‘Angry German’ stereotype.

Piece of Black Forrest Cake, really.

And yes, he’ll only be gone for six months so maybe that tenth going-away-party was a little bit of an overkill but honestly, a lot can happen in six months and Stiles has never been away from home that long.

Not from his Dad, not from Scott, not from Derek, and maybe that last name kind of confuses Stiles a little when it pops up in his brain almost like an afterthought.

And maybe he thinks about the way Derek’s eyes almost but not quite shimmered when they bro-hugged goodbye, and really, since when do they hug, period, but then the pretty German flight-attendant offers him a drink and doesn’t even blink twice when Stiles, in all his 20 years and 2 months-old glory, orders a beer, effectively distracting him from Derek and his newly developed tactile urges.

He’s not even there yet and he’s loving Germany – and its much more reasonable adult beverages laws – already.

And if his thoughts linger on the way Derek’s hand _lingered_ on the small of his back for just a fraction of a second well, it’s probably because of that third beer.

**March**

Stiles _loves_ Germany. Official classes haven’t started yet but he’s spent the past month taking a German class and some cultural classes in preparation for the actual semester, so he definitely feels prepared right now.

He’s already been to Berlin, he’s been to Hamburg – he’s seen things that can never be unseen there, that’s for sure – and he has experienced the 5-day orgy that is Karneval in Cologne.

His German-skills pretty much failed him on that one, but he finds the local dialect quite charming and honestly, who really needs to understand what words like Rievkooche, kriesche, and Bützjer actually mean if they are delivered by a very happy dude in a clown’s costume who’s willing to buy Stiles yet another beer.

Stiles is pretty sure that last one actually means kisses – sloppy, beer-bitter kisses if he’s not completely mistaken – and he’d lie if he said that he didn’t have fun during that particular part of his linguistic research endeavors … even though he’s somewhat glad that there was no tongue involved.

So yes, he’s already made the most of his time in the Old World and he’s not even been there a month, so he’s feeling quite accomplished.

His dorm-room is a single – apparently _all_ dorm-rooms in Germany are singles because people like their privacy here or whatever – and so he gets to skype home quite a bit without having some angry German on his ass.

He could make a pun about that, but really, he’s not _that_ immature.

Or maybe just a little immature?

Ok, he’s seen quite a few guys here whom he wouldn’t mind going all angry German on his ass, but there’s a time and place for everything and right now he mostly spends the few moments when he’s not doing anything university-related on Skype.

He _is_ the pack researcher after all and so it’s kind of a necessity that he has to be available to them as often as possible.

Also, he totally called it that Scott would propose to Kira and ok, maybe he feels just a little bit betrayed that his bestest of best bros couldn’t wait until he got back but judging from the pale, swollen face that blinks at him the morning after Isaac dragged Scott out for a “My Almost-Best-Friend Got Engaged, Whoo-Hooo” party, the rest of the pack have got his duties mostly covered.

He also skypes with Derek, granted, not as often as he does with Scott or his father, but Stiles can’t help but feel pleased that Derek not only got a Skpe account for him but also chose SourWolf87 as his username.

Sype-dates with Derek – yes, he’s calling them dates, but only in his head – are usually pretty one-sided in the conversation department, with Stiles talking up a storm about the idiosyncrasies of German culture and Derek listening more or less attentively, but then again, it’s not like their normal face-to-face interactions are any different.

And if he starts missing Derek more and more after each call then well, that’s something he is definitely going to ignore.

 

**April**

Stiles _hates_ Germany.

He hates the approximately five-thousand bureaucratic errands he’s had to run in order to get himself registered properly as an exchange student, he hates the impossibly long, complicated, unpronounceable German words of formal hell splattered all over his registration forms, and he hates the seemingly non-existent opening hours of the registrar’s office.

He also hates the German language, the harsh, garbled, guttural sound of it that makes it seem like every proper German has shards of glass for breakfast on a regular basis (there is simply no other way to explain how their throats can even make the croaking ch-sound), and he _especially_ hates gendered articles.

“The” is such a beautiful word and to exchange it with the masculine “Der”, the female “Die”, and the neutral “Das”, which are then arbitrarily assigned to ridiculously long compound-nouns is not only unnecessary, but also, in Stiles’ humbled opinion, a clear example of misguided overachieving disorder.

He’s not even going to start about their adjectives and how to put them in a sentence without sounding stupid and when he posts Mark Twain’s quote “When a German gets his hands on an adjective, he declines it, and keeps on declining it until the common sense is all declined out of it“ as his Facebook status all his new friends from the study abroad program immediately like it.

Stiles abhors German opening hours when he runs out of milk on a Sunday and realizes that apparently nothing is open on Sundays other than coffee shops and bakeries (the sales woman in the bakery two blocks over looks so _scandalized_ when he turns up to buy some of the milk they use to bake their products that he buys not one but four bread rolls to avoid her wrath).

He’s also getting sick and tired of constantly being served fizzy water wherever he goes, wondering which evil mastermind convinced an entire 85 million strong nation that water as it comes out of the tap is just. not. good. enough.

Not to mention the fact that he is expected to pay for _every single glass_ of the bland carbonation monstrosity, because free refills are apparently not efficient and thus a taboo in any self-respecting German establishment.

In short, Stiles is so one hundred percent done with Germany it’s not even funny anymore.

The first person who is subjected to his rage is his father, who listens patiently for about five minutes before reminding him that his semester abroad is costing a lot of money and he’d better stop complaining.

Scott is slightly more sympathetic but Stiles can tell that his best friend’s brain is firmly situated in wedding-planning land, all of which he is missing out on in favor of ruining his vocal cords forever while trying to pronounce that cursed ch-sound.

He’s feeling extremely sorry for himself by the time Derek calls him and when the werewolf’s face appears on the screen Stiles almost but not quite starts bawling.

Derek’s face scrunches up in what Stiles has come to know is genuine concern and before he can even ask what’s wrong Stiles is already on a roll, too frustrated with himself and his surroundings to keep it all in and for about twenty minutes he completely ignores Derek’s increasingly desperate attempts to get a word in.

He’s ranting about the German word for sex (“They came up with a compound word that, translated, means gender-traffic. _Gender-traffic_ , who even does that? I’ll tell you who, Autobahn-obsessed Germans with their oh-so-superior cars, that’s who!”) when Derek finally manages to interrupt him.

“What can I do?” he asks, sounding so sincere and worried that Stiles’ heart clenches in his chest.

“I’m just homesick, you know?” he admits, not only to Derek but also to himself, finally accepting that it’s not the country but him who is ... not ok.

Well, and maybe the language, because Rindfleischettikettierungsüberwachungsaufgabenübertragungsgesetz is nothing but a travesty.

“Homesick?” Derek repeats, sounding uncharacteristically hesitant and Stiles snorts, his voice sounding brittle when he speaks.

“I know, I know. Only little children on their first sleep-over are homesick, I get it, this is so incredibly lame it eclipses every single lame thing I have ever done before in my life, but I just can’t help it. I miss home, I miss my father, I miss you … _guys_ , and it’s just a lot harder than I thought it would be.”

Derek sighs, his expression almost fond.

“What can I do?” he repeats, leaning to the camera so that his face fills up the entire screen, almost as if he thinks he’ll be closer to Stiles that way and Stiles blinks back a particularly stubborn tear.

“I’ll get over it, I’m sure, I’m a big boy. I can handle this. I just really, _really_ miss home.”

Derek blinks once, twice, his expression doing something very complicated, before he exhales softly.

“I miss you, too … the pack I mean. _We_ are looking forward to August,” he says quietly and Stiles smiles for the first time in what feels like ages.

“It’s only four more months, I can do this.”

He still feels somewhat horrible after Derek has hung up, but when his next door neighbor knocks on the door with his chess-board and asks him if he would like to join in a round of _Schach,_ the guttural sound at the end only annoys him half as much as before.

 

**May**

The first package arrives ten days after the Skype call during which Stiles almost but not quite bawled his eyes out and includes a variety of Reese’s products, two bags of Ranch dressing powder, and a small Ziplock-bag of something that looks like seasoning.

The smell is somewhat familiar but it’s not until he sprinkles it on some chipped potatoes that he realizes what it is.

Stiles doesn’t even want to know how Derek managed to charm the owner of his favorite diner in Beacon Hills into giving him some of the seasoning mix they use on their curly fries, but that doesn’t stop his heart from thumping almost painfully in his chest nevertheless.

He’s chewing on a Reese’s Fast Break bar when he catches Derek on Skype two days later and the warm feeling in his chest grows exponentially larger when he sees Derek’s eyes light up as he notices the candy.

“You didn’t have to do this, you know?” Stiles says, his mouth still full with peanut butter goodness and Derek laughs quietly, one hand coming up to scratch at his ear almost as if he’s embarrassed.

“Did it help?” he asks in return and Stiles breaks out into a grin, unable to help himself.

“It did. It really, _really_ did Sour Wolf, I almost ate them all already,” he says fondly and Derek makes a sound that could be either a huff or a laugh before he apparently decides that the time for sentimental, maudlin non-sense is over.

“Good. Now, what do you know about Chupacabras?”

Stiles gets another package full of Reese’s at the end of May.

It probably doesn’t mean anything.

**June**

Because Germans seem to be staunch believers in religious holidays Stiles gets an unexpected weeklong break in the middle of June for Pentecost.

It’s just about time to go hit the beach back home in California and Stiles convinces some of his friends to spend their free-time at the North-Sea.

The trip doesn’t quite make the Top 5 of his worst disappointments in life but it’s definitely in the Top 10.

It’s not like he envisioned Margaritas, Tequila, glorious sand beaches, and scorching temperatures, but after five consecutive days of constant rain, chilly temperatures, and thick, muddy clouds that don’t seem inclined to even let the smallest sliver of sunlight through, Stiles once again feels very much done with Germany.

“Why did no one tell me that it always rains here?! If I had wanted constant rain I would have gone to Ireland! Or the UK, they are supposed to be the rainy countries!” he rants to his father, safely hidden in his room in their little beach-condo, where he has retreated to avoid the wrath of his travel companions.

“Weren’t you the one that made me watch that _Saturday Night Live_ skit with Ben Affleck, the one about the Times Square Coat? I would think that would have given you at least some warning,” his father replies patiently and Stiles groans, pulling his hoodie tighter around himself because it’s freaking cold and he’s simply refusing to turn on the heat in _June_!

“It’s no wonder people here are always so grumpy! How could they be anything but, they never get any sun!” he cries to Scott about an hour later and Scott sighs, his brows furrowed in concern.

“You still have two days left, right? It surely can’t rain for an entire week,” he says, obviously going for encouraging and cheerful, but sounding more forced than anything else.

“Wanna bet?” Stiles mutters darkly and Scott shrugs, clearly certain that it’s a bet he’s going to win.

It continues to rain for another two days and by the time they finally get back to campus Stiles just wants to curl up under his feather blanket in the small bed in his dorm room (sheets and comforters are, apparently, an offense to German practicality (why have two blankets when you can have one?) and he would ask them how they don’t suffocate in the summer, but then again, _what_ summer?).

He almost trips over the huge package in front of his door and it only takes one look at Derek’s messy handwriting for his bad mood to evaporate.

They talked on Skype on the second day of his trip – back when he still had hope that the rain and cold would stop – and Derek must have paid a fortune for the package to get there as quickly as it did, because when he opens it the first thing he sees is a snuggie.

Derek’s snuggie.

Yes, Derek Hale owns a snuggie, and his outraged expression was definitely worth the time and effort Stiles put into purchasing the cutest, pinkest, fluffiest snuggie he could find back when they all went off to college and Derek moped for weeks in advance while simultaneously trying to hide how much the thought of his pack leaving was affecting him.

“Thought you might need this more than I do right now,” Derek has written on a note that’s taped to the snuggie and even though Stiles is not a werewolf he can definitely pick up the scent of Derek’s cologne as he wraps himself in the soft material.

“You were just waiting for the perfect moment to get rid of this, weren’t you?” Stiles asks teasingly when he gets Derek on Skype an hour later and Derek rolls his eyes.

“Yes Stiles, you are absolutely right, I simply could not bear the thought of having something _pink_ in my apartment any longer,” he deadpans and Stiles grins, grin fading into a contented smile as he rubs his cheek against the pink fabric.

He almost misses the sharp inhale on the other line but when his eyes snap up Derek looks completely unbothered.

“So, have you bought the red carpet for my triumphant return yet?” he asks, willing his suddenly spiking heartbeat to calm down and Derek blinks, looking adorably confused for a moment.

“Red carpet?” he asks cautiously and Stiles nods.

“Dude, of course! Anyone knows that the most celebrated arrivals usually involve a red carpet!” he explains and Derek chuckles, seemingly against his will.

“Of course,” Derek repeats dutifully, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he smiles one of his rare genuine smiles.

Stiles does not feel shame for thinking it’s the first ray of sunshine he has seen all week.

 

**July**

The last day of classes is on the 4th of July (it’s not the reason he normally celebrates the date but well, Stiles will take what he can get) and his finals are scheduled for the week after.

He’s got three exams and a paper to write and while he feels reasonably confident about the outcome of his exams the paper stresses him out to the point of an actual panic attack.

To his defense, he wasn’t aware of the fact that German professors accept nothing short of a 12 page paper in your last year of undergrad but he really wishes someone had told him _before_ he registered to write the damn thing in German.

He also has to use the most convoluted and confusing citation system he has ever encountered in his life (including the Bestiary, which, come to think of it, is actually quite an achievement for the German language; after all, it easily beats out archaic Latin) and that alone is a valid reason for hyperventilating.

“I can’t do this!” he sends Derek on What’s App, no longer even questioning that somehow, at some point in the past two months, Derek has become the first person he thinks of when he needs comfort from back home.

He’s not expecting a response, not really, after all, it’s 3 AM in Beacon Hills and Derek is probably asleep and so the sound of his ringtone startles him so badly that he almost knocks over his coffee cup.

“You can do this,” Derek says firmly when he picks up and Stiles rubs his hands across his face, uttering a shaky laugh.

“Dude, this phone call is going to cost you a fortune,” he mutters and he can almost see Derek shrugging, his tone even and calm when he replies “So what?”

Stiles takes a sip of his coffee, curses when he realizes it has gone stale, drops his head onto the table, his voice coming out somewhat mushed.

“Mark Twain was right!” he mumbles, groaning in protest when Derek laughs.

“It can’t be _that_ awful,” he says and Stiles snorts, managing to lift his head from his dictionary.

“I have spent the past four hours trying to figure out German conjugation and declination, trust me Derek, this is so beyond awful it’s unreal!” he laments and Derek sighs.

“You have spent the past five months speaking the language, I’m sure you actually know what you are doing and are just psyching yourself out unnecessarily,” he says calmly and Stiles exhales in frustration.

“I know I _should_ be able to, but I just _can’t_! The past five months have been for nothing, I am just wasting my time here! I will never be able to speak this language properly, my vocal cords will shrivel up and die and I will come back utterly silenced! Five months of my life that I could have spent with the people I actually belong with! Instead I’m here in my super-cold dorm room because a German July is just too _cool_ for warmth, not that that was really a surprise to anybody! See, even my puns are a failure now, because that’s what I am, a total, and utter failure! A failure wrapped up in a snuggie because it’s freaking _cold_ and the damn thing still smells like you and I miss you so freaking much it hurts and …”

He breaks off, his eyes widening when he realizes what he’s just said, his heart seemingly trying to jump out of his chest and drown itself in the stale coffee.

Derek doesn’t say anything and Stiles fervently hopes he has gone back to sleep or something, because he’s pretty sure he’s just had a major epiphany concerning Derek, his overall emotional state for the past months and, while he’s on the subject, probably the one true reason for the entire frickin’ bout of homesickness in the first place.

Yes, he really hopes Derek’s gone back to sleep, because any other reason Stiles can come up with for the heavy silence on the other end of the line is an unacceptable reason.

“Derek?” he finally whispers, at the same time as Derek quietly says, “Me too.”

Stiles inhales deeply.

“Yeah?” he whispers, hesitant, and when Derek replies his voice is warm and strong.

“Yeah. I really, really do. Always.”

Stiles gets an A on the paper.

Somehow, it doesn’t really matter.

 

**August**

The first person who sees him is his father and seconds later Stiles finds himself wrapped up in a bone-crushing bear-hug.

“Missed you kid!” the Sheriff grins and Stiles smiles brightly, tightening his arms around his father’s back.

Scott is next, his eyes sparkling suspiciously wet like the sap he is and Stiles blinks back his own tears, studiously pretending he’s got something in his eyes.

Isaac bumps his fist into his shoulder (“Awww, you finally missed me, how sweet!” – “In your dreams Stilinski!”) and Kira beams at him, although Stiles is not a hundred percent sure whether her excitement is really for him or more caused by the fact that with the best man back in the country her wedding can actually happen.

Lydia’s hug is brief but firm and when she pulls back she gently nudges her head to the right, her expression equal times affectionate and apprehensive.

Stiles turns to his right and there is Derek, in all his scruffy, stubbly, leather-jacket-glory, his expression happy but cautious as he’s shuffling on something that looks like one of those kitchen rugs some people put on the ground in front of the sink.

The rug is the most garish shade of red that Stiles has ever seen.

His heart beats so fast that he can hear his blood rushing in his chest.

The rug is just about long enough for two grown men to stand on it and Derek’s face is suddenly very close.

“A red carpet?” Stiles asks, trying to sound confident but failing spectacularly.

“It was the best I could do. Do you like it?” Derek replies, his voice hesitant, almost as if he’s convinced that his best is just not good enough.

Knowing Derek, that’s probably exactly what he’s thinking.

Naturally, Stiles can’t have Derek think like that even for a second.

“It’s awful. Plain _awful_. Just like the German language.”

Derek’s expression relaxes, his entire face lighting up as he catches Stiles’ gaze.

“You love the German language,” he notes softly and Stiles beams.

“I do. I really, _really_ do.”

**Author's Note:**

> I very much recommend reading Mark Twain's "The Awful German Language" in full ... it is extremely funny, has the right amount of snark, and is just so honestly, painfully accurate!
> 
> Again, born and raised German so please view this as a loving commentary on the idiosyncrasies of Deutschland ;-).


End file.
